Wednesday, 8 November 2017

16 - All about Eve

Monday, October 8

Cleo was anxious to get on with the Fargo case, so she left
the breakfast table to the auspices of her husband and drove to HQ, determined
– with Gary’s blessing - to talk to Sally Fargo as soon as possible. Gary
phoned Greg, and asked him to get Mrs Fargo to attend a questioning with Cleo
and record everything. He would himself
go to the hospital and interview the chorus director of the Finch Nightingales
who had been admitted with appendicitis, the Hartley Agency had informed him. He would then go home for lunch.

***

Greg’s office was a smaller version of Gary’s and overlooked
the parking yard rather than the main street in Middlethumpton, but it was better
for Cleo not to be in Gary’s office as they did not want the Fargo woman to
assume that she was on a mission from Gary. Cleo was still waiting for the
promised office to be made available to her as resident social psychologist.

“If you want me to take the job seriously, you’ll have to
organize a place for me to talk to people and keep all my reference books,”
Cleo had complained, but the wheels tended to turn slowly at HQ if you were not
a parking or speeding offender, so she would have to bide her time.

After meeting Cleo at reception, Greg took her up to his
second floor office and phoned security to have Mrs Fargo brought up. It was
only nine o’clock and the day at HQ had hardly begun. Cleo phoned Nigel and
asked him to take notes of the interview. He would act as a witness if
necessary.

***

Sally Fargo was quite surprised to see the office occupied
by Cleo and that smart police inspector she already knew.

“I’ve said all I’m going to say,” she said. “That other
inspector tricked me into saying too much,” she continued, referring to Gary,
of course.

“He’s very shrewd, Mrs Fargo, if you are talking about the
person I know. He has a method of getting people to talk that has annoyed people
before you.”

Greg grinned at that the way Cleo had slipped into her job.
Applause, applause. Cleo was not going to make use of her relationship with
Gary or even admit to it.

“What did you say that you now regret, Mrs Fargo?” Cleo
continued.

***

Greg knew that Gary trusted Cleo, even if he did sometimes
make negative comments about private eyes. He knew that Cleo was a shrewd and
sly interviewer. Greg still had a lot to learn about the psychology of dealing
with suspects and was starting to regret having dozed through the lectures at
the police academy.

***

“I can’t remember,” said Sally Fargo.

“Then it can’t have been very regrettable,” Cleo retorted.

“Can I go now?”

“You’ve only just come and you haven’t asked me why you are
here,” said Cleo.

“Why am I here?” said Mrs Fargo, never in her wildest dreams
expecting the question that was now put to her.

“Where is your mother, Mrs Fargo?”

“My mother?”

“I think her name is Eve Fletcher these days.”

Sally Fargo gripped her hands so firmly that the knuckles
turned white.

“What about my mother?”

“Where is she now, Mrs Fargo?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because she was declared dead and the tramp you recently
identified as Dr Fargo was in fact her husband and only acquitted of her murder
because the cops could not get their act together – oh, and the body of your
mother had not been found, Mrs Fargo.”

“I did not identify the tramp. My husband did,” said Sally
Fargo.

“We weren’t talking about the tramp, but since you clearly
have something say, go ahead!”

“I can’t think of anything,” said Sally.

“That’s a whopper, Mrs Fargo. You agreed with the
identification of the tramp as Dr Fargo when it was actually Toby Bates and you
knew it.”

“All that was before I was born,” said Sally.

“How long before?”

“I don’t remember,” the woman said.

“That indicates that you do, Mrs Fargo, or that you at least
know what this little chat is all about.”

Cleo turned to Greg and asked him if the dates of that court
case were available. Greg said he would find out and turned to his computer to
consult the police archives.

“That would be at a court in Bristol,” said Cleo. “I don’t
suppose Weston-Super-Mare had a criminal court in those days.”

“Weston?” Sally Fargo asked.

“Homesick?” Cleo asked. “You live there, don’t you?”

“We used to.”

“Before you moved to the villa?”

“We’re only staying there,” said Sally Fargo. Cleo looked at
her sharply. The young woman seemed to shrink under the powerful effect of
Cleo’s unflagging gaze.

“Does that mean that you haven’t moved into the yet, Mrs
Fargo, although you are giving it as your home address?”

Greg thought that Cleo’s questioning was quite devious. The
young woman was getting nervous although she had not been accused of anything
and her husband had not even been mentioned except by her.

“Hartley,” said Cleo, confirming that she was not going to
present herself as the woman married to the policeman the Fargos knew as Chief
Inspector Hurley.

“But you had seen photos of him, Mrs Fargo.”

“From before I was born, Miss Hartley.”

“Did your mother say who he was?”

“She never said he was my father, if that’s what you mean.”

“Wasn’t he?”

“I found the photos of her wedding. My mother was very angry
about that, but I kept one and still have it in my wallet.”

“Why would she be angry?”

“Because I thought the man she lived with was my father. I
called his Daddy.”

“I’m puzzled,” said Cleo. “If you thought Mr Bates was like
the man on your photograph, why didn’t you say something?”

“It would only have complicated things and Ed did not know
about the photo.”

“What motivated you to steal that photo, Mrs Fargo?”

“I was angry that my mother did not tell me about her marriage.”

“Why should she? It was over,” said Cleo.

“Something is not right, Miss Hartley. I felt it then, and I
feel it now.”

***

The room fell silent as Sally Fargo sat motionless and
troubled. Cleo let her wallow in her confusion about what significance it could
all have. Eventually, Cleo thought the timing was right to go on. Greg was
fascinated. Cleo seemed to have broken into Sally Fargo’s consciousness.

***

“Your husband he did not tell you of his plan to dispose of
his uncle, did he?”

“No, Miss Hartley. I only heard about it in that interview
with the Chief Inspector.”

“I believe you, Mrs Fargo, but tell me about your mother in
return for the trust I am putting in you. She did tell you what happened that
day on the beach, didn’t she?”

“She told me enough for me not to want to meet that person.”

“Although he could have been your father?”

“My mother told me he wasn’t.”

“Your mother escaped from a jealous husband who was prepared
to kill her rather than let her go to another man, Mrs Fargo.”

“She told me that a stray dog had chased him from the hole
for long enough for her to escape, Miss Hartley.”

“Wow,” said Cleo. “So that’s why she hid from him. And then
he was acquitted of her murder, Mrs Fargo, because he did not kill her.”

“But he tried, didn’t he? She was mortally afraid of him,
Miss Hartley.”

“She must have been. It does explain why she did not come
forward in her husband’s defence. I don’t think I would, either.”

***

In the meantime, Greg had found the information Cleo had
asked for.

“The trial was held in July, Cleo. Bates was acquitted and
the case closed months later when the body of Eve Bates had still not been
found.”

“When is your birthday, Mrs Fargo?”

“September the thirtieth.”

“So your mother must have been pregnant when she escaped. Where
did she go?”

“The man I know as my father took my mother to Ireland that
same day she escaped. He had followed them to the beach and was able to help her
to get away.”

“Are your parents still alive, Mrs Fargo?”

“Yes.”

“Where do they live?”

“In Dublin some of the time.”

“Are you in contact? Can I talk to them?”

“Yes. They could be back in Bristol. My father runs a gym
there. I talked to my mother a few days ago. My husband does not know I am in
contact with her.”

“Please give the Inspector a phone number or email address
for your parents. I don’t need to ask you any more questions right now.”

“But I need to ask you a question, Miss Hartley.”

“Go ahead.”

“If I was born only months after my mother got away, I don’t
know who my father is, do I?”

“I can’t answer that, Mrs Fargo. You could ask your mother, but
she may not know, either.”

“I always thought of my mother’s partner as my father. There
is no father’s name on my birth certificate.”

“Understandable if she thought the father was someone who
had tried to kill her. I can talk to your mother about Toby Bates. She left him
charged with murder and never came forward to clear his name.”

“When I asked her about the photo of him she said he was
past history. I later learnt some of the details from the man I knew as my
father.”

“Toby Bates really had tried to kill her. The man you knew
as your father was a witness. Toby Bates would have gone to prison for
attempted murder.”

“The dog belonged to my father, Miss Hartley. It chased
Bates for miles along that beach. It saved my mother’s life, didn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s why I want to get that case reopened and the
record put straight, even if Toby Bates is dead.”

“Can I get proof that I am not related to him? Does it
matter anymore? I think I killed him, Miss Hartley. I gave him the wine. I
thought my husband was looking after him with little treats.”

“So he gave you wine specifically for that tramp, did he?”

“Yes and he said not to drink any. If it was poisoned, I’m
guilty.”

“Don’t jump the guns, Mrs Fargo. We must prove that your
husband had access to and made use of the poison identified in the tests. I
know you’ll help us.”

“I’m not a murderess, Miss Hartley. Please believe me.”

“You have the book on natural poisons from the library,
don’t you, Mrs Fargo?”

“My husband wanted it. He said the information might come in
handy one day. You don’t think…..?”

Sally Fargo gasped in horror.

“How do you know about the book, Miss Hartley?”

“I wanted the book and it was not available at the library.”

“Do you think my husband made up a poison?”

“I don’t know yet, Mrs Fargo. We can arrange for a DNA test
with the pathologist. It will tell us whether you were related to Mr Bates. I
don’t think you should discuss our talk with anyone.”

“No. I hate Ed Fargo and I don’t want to upset my parents.”

“Did he know about a possible relationship between you and
Mr Bates?” said Cleo.

“I’m no longer sure about that, Miss Hartley, but if he
poisoned Mr Bates, maybe he poisoned his uncle too and maybe I’m to be the
third victim.”

“He won’t get an opportunity to go down that path,” said
Cleo. “Keep silent about our talk. We’ll get you out of HQ as soon as possible.
I am sure that your husband will be invited to stay.”

“Thank you.”

“Since your mother never applied for a divorce, she is now a
widow, Mrs Fargo, so she could marry again.”

Sally Fargo smiled for the first time in that interview.”

“I think she’ll want to, Miss Hartley.”

***

Well satisfied with how the confrontation with Sally Fargo
had worked out, Cleo signalled to Greg that the woman could go back to her cell
to await clearance and release.

Greg’s thumb-up gesture showed his appreciation of the talk.
It was a lesson in persuasion that he had yet to learn.

When Mrs Fargo had been led away, Cleo tapped Eve Fletcher’s
phone number.

***

“Hello?”

“Is that Ms Fletcher?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Cleo Hartley and I’m calling from
Middlethumpton.”

“Why me?”

“I have news for you, Ms Fletcher.”

“I hope it’s good news, Miss Hartley.”

“I’m sure you’ll think it is. Toby Bates is dead.”

“Who is dead?”

“The guy you were married to.”

“Listen, Miss Hartley. I don’t talk about that bastard. Get
off my phone please.”

“No, wait. I’ve been talking to your daughter.”

“To Sally? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. Can I come to talk to you, or can you come
here?”

“If it’s urgent, we’ll drive to you if you tell us where
that is. Do you want me to identify Bates?”

“No. But I think we should have a talk.”

“Are you a policewoman, Miss Hartley?”

“No. I’m a social worker at Middlethumpton police
headquarters, so if you could come there it would be a help.”

“Can I call you back, Miss Hartley? I’ll have to ask my
partner when he has time.”

“Sure. Thanks for not hanging up,” said Cleo.

“Thank you for phoning, Miss Hartley. I’m sorry if I was
unfriendly. Thirty years in hiding from a person who tried to kill me have
taken their toll. I expect you know the story.”

“I do. You won’t have any more hauntings, Ms Fletcher.”

“You’re right. I’m free now, aren’t I?”

“Sure.”

***

Gary’s spontaneous visit to the hospital was not as
successful. He was informed that he could not talk to Miss Keys that day
because she was in the post-operative ward coming round after her appendix
operation at seven that morning. He had no alternative but to drive home again,
secretly relieved that he had not been obliged to talk to Miss Keys, and openly
delighted because he could spend the day with his children. He expressed his
joy by singing along to a Mozart symphony on the radio. Cleo would have called
his performance deafeningly untuneful, but Gary was alone in his car and
enjoying life.

***

Cleo was on her way home, wondering whether Gary had had any
luck with Lisa Keys. It was too early for a siesta, but a second breakfast
would be enhanced by goodies from the bakery and her report of the interview
with Sally Fargo.

Cleo had not forgotten that call to Dorothy. It was the
first time Dorothy had not responded to a call from the cottage and Cleo was
sorry that Gary had not behaved well the previous afternoon. He would have to
apologize for joking about a matter Dorothy was taking seriously and he should
have been, though he had tried to mend the situation. But the damage was done.
Dorothy, who had urged him on so often and come up with so many good ideas, was
hurt.

***

Gary had stopped by the hospital flower shop on the way out.
He bought a bunch of red ‘tryst’ roses for Cleo and a huge bunch of mixed pink
flowers for Dorothy. Before going home he drove to Dorothy’s cottage and rang
the doorbell. Dorothy stopped banging out Beethoven and came to the door.

“I’m sorry I was grumpy yesterday,” he said from behind the
bouquet. “I still love you Dorothy and I can well understand that you were
disgusted.”

“I was disgusted,” said Dorothy, “but I still love you too,
Gary. The flowers are lovely. Won’t you come in?”

“I’d better get home,” said Gary. “I have some more apologizing
to do.”